


Lights Off

by ChiaRoseKuro



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Birthday, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Dark Red, Discord: Umino Hours, Drunken Confessions, Gift Exchange, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, M/M, Memory, Mentions of Umino Iruka's Parents, Miscommunication, Nicknames, Songfic, Teasing, Umino Hours Exchange, Unconventional Relationship, possibly canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:33:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24351379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChiaRoseKuro/pseuds/ChiaRoseKuro
Summary: “Want to get something to eat?” Iruka finds himself asking.“At this time of night?” Kakashi asks above the twin grumbling of their stomachs.A moment of silence, a single glance exchanged in the cover of night, and then…“Maa, Ichiraku’s might still be open,” Kakashi says, and Iruka snorts before he tries to smack Kakashi’s Icha Icha book out of his hand.( the life I’d hoped for, the life I’d wanted— )[ 90 Minutes to Gift - Iruka's Birthday | Memory | Dark Red ]
Relationships: Hatake Kakashi/Umino Iruka, Shiranui Genma & Umino Iruka
Comments: 6
Kudos: 63
Collections: 90 Mins To Gift - Iruka's Birthday





	Lights Off

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dunloth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dunloth/gifts).



> If you're not a fan of somewhat heavy angst, Iruka and Kakashi bonding in front of the Memorial Stone (yes, it is probably as terrible as it sounds), possibly inaccurate representations of Iruka's past and incredibly unsubtle hints of KakaIru, the 'back' button is at your disposal. Iruka's birthday didn't really make it into here so much as it made a brief appearance near the end, so this is certainly not going to be anything overly fluffy - which means that any rude and unnecessary comments that attempt to point that (or any of the provided tags) out will be thrown out Iruka's window.
> 
> Special thanks to Dunloth for providing the pairing (KakaIru and IruGen - the former of which is heavily implied and the latter of which became more of a brotherly bond), genres (hurt/comfort and light angst - the latter of which I clearly failed at keeping to), additional prompts (memory and dark red - the latter of which was mostly present in emotional symbolism) and other parameters (this is not a kid fic), [Magnus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagnusTesla) for organizing the exchange, Umino Iruka for being born on May 26, and Agust D's _28_ for providing the title and summary tagline. I forgot to factor in time for editing (and putting in more of a mention of Iruka's birthday, oops) so please forgive the potentially shoddy edit I gave this before I threw it online.

* * *

It’s dark when Iruka finally makes it home, a stack of homework precariously balanced in one hand and brow creased from a day with unruly Academy students, and he almost brains himself with the door when he forgets to unlock the door. A rare moment of indulgence—or a loss of control—as he curses, another to fish his keys out without losing his grip on the papers, and then he’s being bathed in the sickly yellow light of his home.

His home that echoes emptily when he says _I’m home_ , his home that isn’t the sprawling house he’d never quite grew up in but vacated years ago. There are no vases of delicately arranged flowers softened by his mother’s touch or blades propped up just past the genkan that speak of his father’s deft hands—it’s his, _just_ his, and Iruka toes off his shoes with a muted sigh.

The days are easier, when he’s occupied with a classroom full of children with pointy objects and too-large dreams, but on nights like this…

Iruka sets the homework down on his too-large dining table, bypasses his bathroom and bedroom, and carefully slips out the window before he’s taking to the rooftops.

He’s not an active nin, not even really much of a _real_ nin if the whispers he hears are anything to go by—but Iruka’s still here, still _alive_ , and he lets the wind tear at him with cruel fingers. It’s all temporary anyway, hardly enough to draw his mind from the ache in his heart, but he goes just a little faster to let it tear at him more.

( _I miss you_ , he whispers in the direction of his _true_ home, and doesn’t linger for a response he won’t get)  
  


* * *

  
It was nights like these that Iruka remembers with the most fondness, when he’d been younger and less scarred in all the ways that’d mattered. His mother with steel carefully hidden beneath soft smiles, always ready with a hug and a cup of hot chocolate whenever Iruka couldn’t sleep at night—and his father, wild and loud but with bright smiles and brighter words of cheer. They’d never once protested when he crawled into their bed at night or begged for just one more minute, _just one more hug before you go on your missions_ —

But it was a night like this where he’d seen his mother’s blood drip from her lips, smile soft but far too sad as she’d begged him to leave. It was nights like this when Iruka would curl in a corner and cry, knowing that there’d be no hugs or hot chocolate made _just_ to his liking, and he’d fall asleep with cramped legs and a stained face that would be tacky when he woke.

Not that anyone cared, of course. Not like _any_ of them cared about him, or Naruto, or the other orphans that were too commonplace in Konoha’s deceptive leafy depths.

So nobody notices Iruka when he touches down before a familiar stone, well-worn with the passage of time and the heavy grief of everyone that’d ever stood or sat before it. It’s the work of a moment to pick out his mother’s and father’s name, even with the moon almost obscured by clouds, and to murmur a greeting and an apology all rolled into one.

“I miss you,” he tells them again, fingertips trembling against the surname they all share—

“I’m sure they miss you too,” a low voice murmurs behind him, and Iruka spins around with a shout and a lightning-fast lunge for his spare kunai.

“Maa, I’m hurt,” Kakashi drawls without a single ounce of pity or offence in his tone, gaze never once lifting from the lurid orange book in his hand. “Aren’t we meant to be comrades, Teacher-san?”

“Don’t play coy,” Iruka huffs with a shake of his head, but he tucks his kunai away and steps to the side—not enough to leave the Memorial Stone, but enough to make room for Kakashi.

Because if there’s one person who visits the Memorial Stone more than anyone else, it’s the infamous Copy-Nin.

Iruka would have to be _braindead_ if he didn’t know just _how_ many deaths Kakashi had to mourn.

He looks away when Kakashi tucks his book away with a soft rustle, fingers coming up to trace the myriad names carved painstakingly into stone. It’d be so easy to leave, so much simpler to cede his position to Kakashi so they can both mourn in private—but he finds himself tucking his hands into his pockets and murmuring, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

It’s stupid—trite, even—and Iruka regrets the words as soon as they’re out of his mouth. There’s a single moment when the wind dies down and nothing moves, Kakashi’s fingers still hovering over the stone and his eye fixed on the names he once knew as people—

But there’s no light pretence or fake eye-smiling when Kakashi murmurs right back, “I’m sorry for yours too.”

In that moment, it’s all too easy to see the man renowned as one of the strongest active ninja—the young ANBU captain who’d grown too fast, who’d been too much of a prodigy even by their prodigy’s standards. He’s not the eternally tardy jounin that consistently fails would-be genin teams, nothing like the man he throws blunt kunai at whenever he needs to retrieve overdue Academy paperwork, and even his flyaway grey hair isn’t quite so offensive.

He’s just another grieving person—just another person like _Iruka_ , for all that their achievements and skills are vastly different—and Iruka ducks his head with a strange and entirely inappropriate smile.

He’s only ever talked with Kakashi in the context and safety of the Academy, but now…

“Want to get something to eat?” Iruka finds himself asking.

“At this time of night?” Kakashi asks above the twin grumbling of their stomachs.

A moment of silence, a single glance exchanged in the cover of night, and then…

“Maa, Ichiraku’s might still be open,” Kakashi says, and Iruka snorts before he tries to smack Kakashi’s Icha Icha book out of his hand.  
  


* * *

  
“So,” Iruka hears on the way home one day, homework snatched away before he can so much as blink, “a little birdie told me that you’ve been around a certain big, bad jounin lately.”

“ _Genma,_ ” Iruka sighs, scrubbing a hand over his hair before making a swipe for his papers. “Don’t you have missions to go on?”

“Just came back from one,” is Genma’s cheerful response, lazy smirk half-obscured by dirt and the stack of papers he’s _smearing with foliage and mud_.

It takes far too many minutes and _far_ too much commotion to rescue all his papers. By the time he’s swept off Genma’s muck, tied them together with ninja wire and glared at everyone gawking at the spectacle, Genma’s clicking a new senbon between his teeth and grinning through the sandal-shaped print on his face.

“You’ve gotten tougher,” Genma notes as Iruka huffs, strides lazy but still keeping up with Iruka’s hurried pace. “Must be that jounin’s influence, huh?”

“We are _not_ talking about my love life!” Iruka snaps, storming into his apartment and almost _throwing_ the papers onto his dining table—

But it’s not until Genma’s eyes light up that Iruka notices his mistake.

“ _Love life_ ,” Genma repeats with relish, rolling the words around in his mouth. “Oh, Iruka, when were you going to tell me you’d become all grown up?”

“I’m _already_ an adult.”

“But you’ve never shown interest in _anyone_ since that time we caught you and Ebisu giggling over— _urk!_ ”

“We don’t _speak_ about that, remember?” Iruka hisses in a strangled, too-high voice, uncaring of the muck getting on his hands as he shakes Genma by his vest. “And I do not have a _love life_ , I just meet up with Kakashi to grab some food and sit at the Memorial Stone with him!”

Iruka expects more ribbing for his words, another lazy smirk and obnoxious wisecracking as Genma pries into his _completely normal friendship_ with Kakashi—but there’s a peculiar lack of expression on his face. “Genma?” Iruka asks, letting go of Genma’s vest—

Only for Genma to clutch his shoulders and ask in a no-nonsense tone, “You hang out Kakashi at the _Memorial Stone?_ ”

“It’s not _hanging out_ ,” Iruka replies, frowning at Genma’s wide-eyed, slack-jawed look. “It’s just…”

_Providing comfort,_ is the first thing that comes to Iruka’s mind, except Genma would _definitely_ find a way to twist that. _Convenient_ , but that does no justice to the way Iruka’s welter of emotions calm with Kakashi’s presence.

“It works for us,” Iruka eventually settles on saying, shrugging off Genma’s hands with an uncertain twist to his lips, and heads to the kitchen with a carrying, “Want some tea, Genma?”

Genma doesn’t stay long after that, only manages to down two scalding mouthfuls before he ruffles Iruka’s hair and leaves through the window, but he glances back just once before he heads off.

“Tell me if Kakashi ever does anything to hurt you,” he tells Iruka with a smile on his face but a cool look in his eyes, “and I’ll make sure he never does it again.”

“We’re _not_ dating!” Iruka yells after him, but Genma only waves before he disappears from Iruka’s windowsill in a swirl of leaves.  
  


* * *

  
“…and even now,” Iruka sighs, three cups deep into their sake bottle and pleasantly full from two servings of ramen in lieu of a fancy birthday dinner, “even _now_ , I don’t know what Genma was getting at. It’s _stupid_ how people try to fit everyone else into neat little boxes—and I love Genma like the older brother I never had, I really _do_ , but it’s just all—”

“Maa, you might wanna slow down there,” Kakashi inelegantly interjects with a snicker, cheeks faintly pink above his mask even as he stops Iruka from downing a fourth. “Throwing up or teaching with a hangover tomorrow would be horribly irresponsible, Teacher-san.”

But Iruka snorts at Kakashi’s amused chastisement, shakes off his hand so he can throw his sake back, and says just a little too loudly, “I _like_ what we have, and everyone else can keep their noses out of it!”

He doesn’t notice Kakashi stilling or his single visible eye widening, doesn’t notice _anything_ beyond the gently swirling room and his inability to grab the sake bottle. “I don’ care if we’re friends or _bosom buddies_ or somethin’,” Iruka slurs slightly, giving it up as a bad job and slumping onto his dining table with a pout, “but I feel less—less _lonely_ when I’m w’ you at the Stone an’ eatin’ ramen an’—”

Arms slide around his shoulders, warm and solid in a way that’s vastly different from the table, and Iruka leans into them with an unsteady sigh. “Thanks f’r being here, Kakashi,” Iruka says in a steadier voice, pressing his cheek against Kakashi’s shoulder as a hand loosens his ponytail and cards through his hair.

And in the moments before he nods off against Kakashi, warm and sated in the comfort of his home, Kakashi presses his cheek to the top of Iruka’s head and murmurs, “Thank _you_ for being here, Iruka.”

**Author's Note:**

> For further author notes and other things related to this fic, feel free to check out my [blog](https://chiarosekuro.wordpress.com/). Alternately, potential prompts and other sorts of inspiration can be found on my [Tumblr](https://chroku-n.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/chroku_n/) if that tickles your fancy instead - or, if you'd like your own shiny new oneshot, you can request one from me [here](https://chiarosekuro.wordpress.com/commissions/). If you'd rather chat with me and others who enjoy either my work or my company (or both) in a more private setting, though, you can also join my [multifandom Discord server](https://discord.gg/cQrS2bW).


End file.
